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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25248886">The Otherside</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/januarywren/pseuds/januarywren'>januarywren</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adult Hermione Granger, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Emotional Manipulation, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, F/M, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Minister for Magic Tom Riddle, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Minor Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Moral Ambiguity, Mutual Pining, POV Hermione Granger, POV Tom Riddle, Past Relationship(s), Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Slytherin Hermione Granger, Slytherin Politics, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Unhealthy Relationships, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:14:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,058</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25248886</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/januarywren/pseuds/januarywren</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hello Tom," she said as if nothing had ever passed between them at all.</p><p>As if she had never raked her fingernails across his back, and urged him further inside her as if she knew that she could reach a place inside him, that not even he could. She was his home, the place that his soul would always long for, a warmth that he couldn’t bear to shrink from.</p><p>As if she had never allowed him to lay with his head in her lap, while he read aloud from a dog-eared copy of a story from her childhood, a story that she loved enough to share with him.</p><p>As if she had never loved him.</p><p>As if she had never been his friend. His lover.  </p><p>“Hermione," Tom murmured as if saying her name alone could change everything between them. </p><p>Childhood friends AU | Tom knew he should have never let her go.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hermione Granger &amp; Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger &amp; Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle | Voldemort</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>91</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>309</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Tumblr prompt: "...can I have a Tomione oneshot angst pls were Tom ( running from the position of minister of magic) finds out he had a daughter from a one night stand. Hermione Granger ( whom is now the new head matriarch of house slytherin despite being a muggleborn thanks to the family magic) is his baby mama and witnessed her inauguration ceremony ( House Slytherin is like an old hidden royalty with international connections)..."</p><p>I went off your prompt a little bit, and I hope that you don't mind! It's been a minute since I wrote an angsty fic, and I struggled with this one. There's some parts that I edited to feel less heavy handed, though I think they're messy still - is it terrible that I like this piece regardless?...😩💞</p><p>Sacrificing Hermione for his own ambition is something that I could see Tom doing, though I think he would never, truly let her go. There's a mention of pregnancy in this story, though nothing comes of it - just in case that's sensitive for you to read. (There's no loss of pregnancy.) </p><p>Thank you so much for reading, I apologize for not uploading something for a bit! Last week was really busy for me, and I missed interacting with you all. I hope that you enjoy this piece, messy and all, and thank you anon for requesting it! 🌷💞</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Life was not a fairytale.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>The so-called magical world was the same as the muggle world that it despised, with all of its flaws. VIrulent judgment rippled just beneath the skin, purebloods and half-bloods never daring to come too close to the muggle-borns, and the squibs. There was a line between them that wouldn't be crossed, no, it <em>couldn't</em> be crossed, even at Hogwarts, Dumbledore's beloved stage. He couldn't always make his players obey, as he moved their strings up and down, and they twirled according to his will.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>It wasn't enough, it was never enough.  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Hermione knew this, the same as she knew her own name, and his.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She’d felt him since she knelt before Dumbledore, and allowed him to pin the Slytherin House pin to her robes as if it hadn't been arranged months ago when she accepted the position in his office and the required lemon drop. It’d fizzled on her tongue, as bitter as the memories that her heart twisted away from.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>The ceremony was observed by all of Hogwarts, and any witch or wizard that wished to attend. The pouring rain hadn't paused the celebration, no, it hadn't paused anything at all. It was a ceremony that saw the purebloods with their fine dress robes, and jewelry that had been tucked away in Gringotts for decades, left only for the goblins to enjoy. The press was allowed to, Skeeter overjoyed to make her way through Hogwarts’s gates (though she was dismayed at Hagrid’s presence, and the various creatures that hung off his shoulders, and hid in his beard…)  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>It was the new Head of Slytherin that was beautifully solemn and had a melancholy air, forcing even Lucius Malfoy to admit the muggle-born woman had a certain appeal, in her dark robes and golden circlet that Dumbledore set upon her head. It was a ceremony that meant everything and nothing, a ceremony that Hermione hardly cared for at all.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>(She once had a silly, little dream of tucking herself away in the country; surrounded by books with a half-kneazle curled in her lap. There, she would fill her days with researching charms and ancient runes, while allowing her curls to reign free, without countless bottles of Sleekeasy imposed upon them. She wanted to be away from everyone and everything, the same as she wanted to be amidst the world that she wanted to belong to, more than she would ever admit to.)</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She held her head high when she gave a statement to the press, and graciously allowed herself to be posed, the same way that she allowed Dumbledore to manipulate her into accepting the post. Her home was at Hogwarts, and she simply had nowhere else to go, and no one else wanted her. She wouldn’t be the greasy bat in the dungeons, as her childhood potions professor was, but the girl that no one remembered, and the professor that was respected, and ignored in equal measure.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She would have her ancient runes and the tomes that she treasured, and nothing more.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>(“<em>No one has ever wanted me,” </em>the dark-haired boy said, with truthfulness that often disarmed those around him, children, and adults alike<em>. “No one has ever needed me, except for you, Hermione</em>.”)</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>When the crowds thinned, Hermione found herself down the marbled hall and was unsurprised at the sound of footsteps behind her. There was only one room that was fitting for them to meet, there was only one room that had ever meant anything to them at all.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>(Hermione never thought of their days spent studying in the library, with her head on his shoulder as they took their notes together, or the nights they shared in the other’s bed. No, there were some things that she never thought of, the only way that she found she could survive, for no one liked a witch’s tears for long. How would she appeal to her students if all she did was wail? What would her colleagues think if she had tears staining her cheeks, and a brittleness inside of her heart? No, Hermione knew that she had to be more than what she wanted.)  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She had to be what the world expected, she had to be what Dumbledore demanded.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She had nothing else. She had no one else.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She felt him behind her as they entered the Room of Requirement, and the room shifted into countless hallways, and floating staircases. They were steps that they’d run up and down as children, steps they had never heeded nor feared, not while they were together.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p><em>How many vials of Dreamless Sleep did she take now</em>?</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>"Hello Tom," she said as if nothing had ever passed between them at all.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>As if she had never raked her fingernails across his back, and urged him further inside her as if she knew that she could reach a place inside him, that not even he could. She was his home, the place that his soul would always long for, a warmth that he couldn’t bear to shrink from.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>As if she had never allowed him to lay with his head in her lap, while he read aloud from a dog-eared copy of a story from her childhood, a story that she loved enough to share with him.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>As if she had never loved him.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>As if she had never been his friend. His lover.  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“Hermione," Tom murmured as if saying her name alone could change everything between them. </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>He was far from a Gryffindor. He was not brave, he was not bold, he was a snake that curled beneath her feet.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“I thought you were out there," Hermione said, keeping her back to him as she leaned over the banister. Staircases shifted and moved according to the very will of Hogwarts, yet theirs stayed still. It was a simple trick, the Room of Requirement always bending to its occupants' will. “I was surprised you were able to come.”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p><em>I was surprised you came at all</em>.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Tom shifted to stand beside her, the distance between them the same as if he were behind his desk at the Ministry still. He never came to visit her at Hogwarts, nor did she come to the Ministry, as if they lived in separate worlds, where the other had never existed. (Who was she now? Who was he?)</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She knew more than to as if he regretted it, she knew more than to ask him to stay.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>He was always the one to walk away.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“That night,” Hermione murmured, her fingers curling into her palms, “you cast the charm incorrectly on purpose, didn’t you?”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>And he said the only thing that he could, the truth that he always shared with her. “Do you need to ask?”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em>Of course, I did.</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Seven months prior, they’d made the past come alive again; only not as a boy and a girl, but as a man and a woman with lies on their tongue, and an ache inside them that lived without falter.  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Samhain, the night when they were without name, and face, a gala at the Ministry. He remembered how drawn he was to the girl in blue, the girl that he would forever know by the richness of her curls, and the way that she begged for ‘more,’ with all of her pretty words, and her earnest soul. He knew her as he had never known another, nor wanted to know; for she had imprinted herself on to his insides, where he wanted her to always be.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>With her, he was free, free in ways that he would never be when she left -</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Only she’d left in the morning, just before he awoke to a newspaper on his nightstand, and a steaming cup of coffee left beside it. He’d eaten nothing, instead dragging lines from his cigarette as he laughed in his bed, where the scent of their fucking remained. He was nothing without her, the only Minister for Magic that was left undone by a muggle-born and her heart, her soul, her pretty cunt that he’d made his own; over and over again.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>He never had given her enough, while taking all that she offered -</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>All that he wanted and needed and all that he craved -</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She was the weakness he could never have.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“There’s a muggle pill that prevents contraception,” Hermione said, turning her head toward him. She wore the same robes that she had as a girl, her figure unchanging and still the same that he had known. “I couldn’t trust myself with you, and I didn’t want to know who you were, any longer.”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>There was nothing of him within her, there was nothing that would tie them to one another once more.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>He saw the rueful tilt to her lips, as both of them knew that she had known what he intended as if he could relive the very dream that he left behind, and make it real once more. “I took it for months before the gala.”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>He laughed then, a low, tender sound.  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“You always were the brightest witch of our age.”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Hermione knew more than to disagree, instead, agreeing to the title that she'd never wanted. "I hope to lead Slytherin well," she said, a thoughtful expression flitting across her features. He saw that she hadn't lost her intensity, nor the way that her teeth sank into her bottom lip when she drifted into her thoughts.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She was a new girl, one that he had never known, just as she was the utter same.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She was the girl that had packed her childish things away, the one that had willingly left her muggle childhood behind her when her letter came. She had always known there was a world out there, one that was for little girls like her, who had magic in their soul and nowhere else to go.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>He’d thought the same as a boy, when he lay curled beneath his thin sheet, with snakes gathered at his feet.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“<em>Take me away</em>,” they both had whispered, “<em>take me to where I belong</em>.”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>And magic listened and intervened, as it always did for those who had little idea of its true price.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She was a girl and he was a boy, two, lonely children that met in an empty train compartment and shared a copy of Hogwarts: A History between them. Nor had the Sorting Hat thought to part them, as they found their belonging in Slytherin.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>There were times when Tom lay his head on his desk, as he once had laid his head in Hermione’s lap, and listened to the laughter outside his door. It was the laughter of children that he ached for, the peals of laughter that had once echoed from him, as they did his friend, his only and truest friend, who he adored beyond measure.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>It hadn’t kept him from casting her away, even before they had ever reached Graduation day.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>There was a part of him that would never belong to him, nor her, nor anyone else; for it was stripped from him when he was sent away to languish in an orphanage. It hurt more than his pride, it hurt more than his heart, it was a chill that had settled into his bones, that told him he wasn’t enough.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>He would never be enough.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“Thank you for coming,” Hermione admitted, glancing toward him once more. “It wasn’t something I expected.”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“I wouldn’t miss it,” Tom replied, the words heavy and cold on his lips.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>They were polite and pointed, their gnashing teeth nothing like what they had before. They both had their ambitions, the fire within their chest that pushed them to take advantage of everything, and everyone they could, aside from one another.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>They wanted to make their imprint on the world, their dreams filled with all of society knowing their name, from every squib to pureblood. And it was a dream that both had seen come to fruition; Tom as Minister, and Hermione as Head of Slytherin, the same as they found their dream meant nothing at all.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>The world would move, with or without them.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Hermione tossed her curls as if she thought nothing of the dreams that lay tattered and filthy, as they draped across their feet. "Bellatrix,” Hermione said, “Will you marry her soon?”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She would never admit to the nights she’d cried over the news; the newspaper nothing more than ash in her bedroom’s fireplace. Yet the words followed her still, and the accompanying picture; Tom’s arm slung around Bellatrix’s waist, and a cloying, knowing smile on her lips.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“Six months from now,” Tom replied, his eyes closing as he heard her sharp inhale. “Bellatrix will marry one of the Lestrange brothers.”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>His hand was close to hers, closer than it had any right to be.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“She has nothing of me,” Tom said, “She doesn’t share my bed, my estate -“ one that was near muggle London, with a library that teemed with books, with muggle and pureblood authors alike, and a picture of Hermione next to a bed that he’d only slept in twice.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She only had him when he needed a seat on the Wizengamot, a seat that he never would have attained without Bellatrix. It was something that Hermione would have never understood, an ambition that would have exposed the rot inside of him as if he were a hollowed-out tree with a mass of maggots writhing inside him.  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Bellatrix understood, for the same lived inside of her, where the woman beside him would have never understood at all. He never wanted her to. “She will never have me,” Tom said as if truth lingered behind every word. </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>He felt her curls tickle his sleeve.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“What does she call you?”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She knew of the name that he’d made for himself, the name that dripped from the world’s very lips, as Tom severed any ties between himself and his origins. He wanted no one to remember the family that had abandoned him, nor how his father had called a muggle to her with enchantment as if his love for her could ever be real.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>No, Tom Riddle was a boy that was never meant to exist, a boy that had to wither and die, before the man could emerge. It was Voldemort that emerged from his shell, with the boy abandoned and left behind. There was no one that knew, there was no one that would dare to uncover who he once was, for Voldemort thrived beyond measure.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Voldemort was the past, the present, and the future the world would bow to.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>"Is it Tom?" Hermione asked as if she didn't know what he would say, "Or Voldemort?"</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>And Tom replied with the truth, hideous and bubbling where a beautiful lie would never have sufficed. “Tom.”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Hermione smiled a bittersweet and knowing smile. "It’s who you are,” she said, both of them remembering the day that he’d walked away from her, as he boarded the train to London, and left her behind.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>‘<em>A future minister could never have a muggle-born friend, a muggle-born wife</em> -'</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>A future minister couldn't have a muggle-born at all. There would be no place in society that would welcome them, not with Tom’s ambition, if he had Hermione on his arm. She could play at Dumbledore’s school all that she liked, but existing in high society was another matter, one that was rigid and demanding.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Hermione swallowed tautly, countless words that she would never say rising to her lips, before settling on the right ones. “Go back to the Ministry, Tom.”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>
    <em>There’s nothing for you here.</em>
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Tom lifted his head, as he heard everything that she chose not to put into words. “No one?" he asked as if they were free to run away together, to a bright, and beautiful world that would never accept them as they were.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>They would be loathed and ignored, the latter something they both knew they could never accept at all.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Hermione rested her head against his bicep as if nothing had ever changed between them at all. “No one,” she agreed, as blissfully cruel as she was kind. “There’s no one here for you, Tom.”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She’d learned from the best, after all.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p> </p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Chat with me: https://januarywren.wixsite.com/januarywren 🌹 </p><p>https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹</p><p>and ask for me my discord! 🌹</p><p>Beta'd by Grammarly! 🦝🖤</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Angst, angst, angst.</p>
<p>Inspiration kicked in around 4 am when I couldn't sleep - I didn't think I would add more to this story, but here we are. I actually really like this chapter, and I'm toying with the idea of having Tom make things right...should I? </p>
<p>Or does Hermione deserve someone else? 🤸🏻🌹</p>
<p>And as always, thank you for reading. It makes me so happy to know that people enjoy my writing, and support my work - I can't thank you enough! 🤍</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Hermione tasted nothing but chalk, as buttery popcorn cracked between her teeth.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>It was a snack that her parents would have never approved of, as fussy as they were about her teeth. Hermione smiled despite herself, remembering her parent’s belief that world peace could be achieved through dental health alone. “<em>No one feels happy hen they have a cavity</em>,” her mother often told her, “<em>They can’t - it’s just too painful</em>!”</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“If only everything was that simple,” Hermione murmured, despite being alone in her quarters. Her familiar was off hunting rats, the House-Elves less than pleased when the cankerous feline prowled the halls, often mistaking their long ears for rat tails.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Hermione drew her knees against her chest, her hand never far from the popcorn bowl. There were pictures spread across the bed, ones that soon became covered with sticky fingerprints, as she looked at them. They were photos from another life; one, when she'd been sure the dark-haired boy at her side, would never leave her, and the wizarding world would welcome her, and all like her.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Muggle-borns.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>‘Humans,’ Hermione often wanted to say. The division between wizards in their world was enough to make her skin crawl, as muggle-borns and half-bloods and purebloods were forced into their places as if one were more, or less than the other. Magic rarely seemed to make distinctions between them, as Hermione new first-hand.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She and Tom - she ignored the catch in her throat at the name - had often been neck in neck when it came to their ability with wandless magic, regardless of the difference in blood between them. It was the same occurrence that Hermione saw within her own House, as pure-bloods found themselves outmatched by half-bloods and muggle-born, as much as pure-bloods flaunted their supposed talents.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>No, Hermione thought, magic flowed through their veins, regardless of the purity of their blood. It was folly to believe otherwise, though she knew too, that her view was far from popular in the wizarding world.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>And how could it when the Minister believed in - and encouraged - blood purity?</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“Tom,” Hermione said, forcing the name from her lips.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She felt her stomach twist, and an ache settle in her chest, one that she knew wouldn’t falter. It was there whenever her thoughts strayed to the boy that she loved, and the man that she would never know.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>If she were truthful, there were times when she wondered if she’d ever known Tom at all. Had she been more like Parkinson or Brown, would she have seen Tom for who he was? What he was?</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Her toes curled against the sheets, bitterly cold, despite the fuzzy socks she wore. “I don’t want to know,” Hermione said, her eyes fluttering closed. She wouldn’t let her tears fall, as if she were the same as any other, heartbroken girl.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She was more than that.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>More than him.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>It was unprecedented for Slytherin to welcome a muggle-born as the Head of House, and Hermione had taken to the position well. She was as kind as her father, and as stern, as her mother had often been, valuing fairness and honesty above all. Her charges new they could rely on her to respect them, as long as they respected her in turn, and she never acted irrationally. (Nor did Hermione drink herself silly with firewhiskey, as many believed Slughorn had…)</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>And Hermione surprised herself with how maternal she felt toward her charges, something that she had never expected to feel. She was patient with them in a way that she had never been as a child, and her charges knew that her door was always open to them. There wasn’t a textbook for the Head of Houses, yet Hermione soon found herself presented with charges that were homesick, ill, or lonely beyond measure, and found that she wanted to help them all. She didn’t always lecture about studying, and following the rules -</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Hermione laughed a soft, pitiful sound.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>More than one student was enchanted by the small television in her sitting room, one that she’d charmed to work inside Hogwarts. She had a selection of VHS tapes too, and had a romantic comedy in then, something she could listen to without quite watching.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She wrapped her arms around her knees, ignoring the buttery oil that stained her pajama bottoms. There was a part of her that she never wanted to feel, thoughts that she never wanted to hear, and dreams she never wanted to remember -</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She pressed her face against her hands as if she could forget the feel of kisses peppered across her skin, and tender words whispered in her ear. It was a terrible thing to wonder what could have been, and she shuddered as she remembered how heavy the pill had felt on her tongue, as she took it for weeks before the gala.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She knew what would happen, as soon they were near one another -</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>It hadn't surprised her when he'd held her close, and swept her into a dance, in the crowded room. They had always made whatever room they were in theirs; regardless of whether there was a single person besides themselves there or hundreds. She saw no one but him, and he wanted no one but her.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>His words, his touch -</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>It was everything that she had ached for, as he possessed her.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>"Tom," Hermione whispered as if it would change anything between them. Her Tom - he'd always been hers until he left her. No -</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>He’d been hers before he left, and after.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>And she could have been his, if she’d given in, and let his seed take root inside her. He would have kept her beside him then, he’d all but admitted it when they met once again. It’s the closest she would get to an apology, though Hermione remembered how gaunt he’d looked, and the sheer discontent that bubbled beneath his charming veneer, and wondered if he was truly happy.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>No, she decided. He wasn’t.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>(Was she?)</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>There were moments when she was happy, moments when she forgot about the ache in her chest and the name that clung to the tip of her tongue. She could forget the world when she lost herself in her studies, her tomes, her muggle romances with cracked spines and yellowed pages -</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She could forget for a minute, and remember the next, and everything would fall into place again. She missed him the same as she missed her parents, the three of them the only people she allowed to take hold of her life. She has their birthdays marked on her calendar, alongside a packet of cards she knew that she would never send.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>There was a dream that dwelled within her, one where she’d stayed by Tom’s side, and was everything he wanted and more. She had never stopped following his rise, tucking newspaper articles in her bottom drawer, alongside the rare interviews that he gave. She looked at them more than the photos she had of Tom and her in childhood, photos that she rarely revisited.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>If only -</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Hermione swallowed, her throat burning as grief rose.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>If she had his child, he would give society what they wanted; whispers increasing about the Minister’s reluctance to marry, and establish his family.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>A family that Tom wanted only with her - for Hermione wasn’t a fool, knowing that Tom could choose anyone he wanted. He was handsome still and as enthralling as the day she had met him. If she had his child, she would have him, without end.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>“But I want more,” Hermione exhaled, her shoulders taut as she whispered the truth. She wanted more than Tom could give her, for even he couldn’t erase the past, or rewind time. He’d loved her as a boy and left her then, months before he ever became a man.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Hermione tipped her head back, her eyes opening to gaze at the illuminated ceiling above. Her pretty curls cascaded down her back, and if Tom had seen her then, he would have whispered that heartbreak became her.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>She’d made her choice, the same as he’d made his.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>(Why did it feel so wrong?)</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p> </p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
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